


Empires Fall (so that the children of the new might lisp a plan)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, Walking Dead
Genre: Baby Fic, Caryl!Baby, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Language, Mild Smut, USS Caryl's 'All Good things come to an end' fanfiction/fanart challenge, past domestic violence/spousal abuse/child abuse, past loss of a child, this fic is happy I swear, vague allusions to abortion related thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She woke up slowly to the taste of salt and old linen. Breasts aching, full in a way that she was already an old hand at recognizing. Maternal and timely with the knowledge that there would likely be a hungry little one burbling and spitting himself awake sooner rather than later for his breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quarter Master Haley](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Quarter+Master+Haley).



> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: For the USS Caryl's "All Good things must come to an end" fanfiction/fanart challenge. I chose the "Caryl baby" option.
> 
> Warnings: Contains general spoilers for all five seasons, adult language and mature content, mild smut, Daryl's shitty childhood and Carol dealing with the loss of a child in Sophia and wading through her own emotions of bringing an unexpected child into the world. Clear references to: semi-established relationship, past domestic violence, spousal abuse, child abuse, vague allusions to abortion-related thoughts, as well as touching on the idea of abandonment and what it means to have a baby at the end of the world.

She woke up slowly to the taste of salt and old linen. Breasts aching, full in a way that she was already an old hand at recognizing. Maternal and timely with the knowledge that there would likely be a hungry little one burbling and spitting himself awake sooner rather than later for his breakfast.

She breathed deep – slow – testing the idea of consciousness before she decided to really commit to it. She curled her toes, star-fishing out in a lazy stretch as the neat, empty span of sheets beside her told her what she already knew. That she was alone and that Daryl hadn't come to bed.

_Again._

There was a sigh in there somewhere, just as much as there was a smile. Lurking under nine months of second guessing and emotional turmoil. It hadn't been easy. Not on her. Not on him. Not on anyone, really. Lori's death had still been too fresh for the others to really let themselves get invested in the idea. Even the Alexandrians' had been nervous – as well-meaning as they were. But along with the recent loss of anything resembling a real doctor and the fact that she wasn't exactly getting any younger. Well, let's just say, 'kid-gloves' had been an understatement.

It had been a lot to take in. She knew that better than anybody. She'd done the math. Weighed the options. Sitting on the toilet seat in the house she was only just getting used to calling her own. Head in her hands, refusing point blank to acknowledge the way her fingers were trembling as the second pregnancy test in a two weeks glowed proudly positive from the dusty tiles at her feet.

It was all risk with very little possibility of reward. And it'd kept her stalled for weeks.

Keeping the baby had been the hardest decision she'd ever made. She'd come close to ending it more than once during those first few months. Crying herself to sleep as she clutched the hair elastic on her wrist and tried to remember how she'd felt the day a much simpler looking pregnancy test had colored a plus into the little circle in her and Ed's cramped little master bathroom.

She'd been happy then.

She knew that much.

Back when she thought she still had a chance at fixing her marriage.  _Fixing him._

Sophia had always wanted a brother or sister. She'd spent a solid year begging and pleading when her friend's parents started trying for baby number two or three. It had been the only reason why she hadn't gone in and gotten her tubes tied like she knew she should have. She'd lied to Ed. Told him the doctors were forced to do it after Sophia had been born. That there had been some sort of complication. That if they tried again the risks were just too high.

He'd kicked her down the stairs for it, pissed to hell that he wouldn't get the son he wanted. But she'd burned with the knowledge that she'd made the right decision. She wasn't going to bring another child into the world for him to abuse. She'd rather suffer the harsh edge of his hand a hundred times over than give him another receptacle for his rage. So, she'd played it smart. Squirreling away money for the pills when she could. And trying to bring him off in other ways the rest of the time. Using the fact that he was usually half-drunk and content to just bruise up her mouth rather than climb on top of her to satisfy himself. Grateful, for the first time since he'd put that ring on her finger, that Ed had never been one to reciprocate - especially when he'd already gotten what he wanted.

But the dream had never completely died. Holding onto the idea that when she finally got up the courage to leave, she could give her little girl what she'd always wanted. Filling their new lives with all the good the world had to offer rather than remaining stagnant in the bad. She thought that dream had withered up, dried out like leather cured and stretched as the years had passed and Sophia grew up under Ed's surly mutterings and violent temper.

She wasn't immune to the irony.

The fact that it was here – _now_  - of all times and places, that the dream had finally broken ground.

Daryl had spent the first few months after she started showing – when it'd finally hit home and started becoming real - avoiding her like the plague. It had stung. She could admit that now. But she'd understood it. He'd needed time. And frankly, he hadn't been the only one. Besides, she knew him well enough to know that when he was ready, he'd find his way home.

She knew how it had happened.

_Oh, she had a good idea of the timing even._

She'd been teasing him. Sprawled out and posed across one of the mattresses in the department store they were looting. She'd been baiting him, getting his blood up, watching an embarrassed flush make tracks through his stubble before he just launched himself at her. Calling her bluff as they both went down across the mattress in a tangle of sweaty limbs and dust.

She remembered the huff of laughter that had left his throat. The way he'd rubbed his cheek into the curling spikes of her hair - hips working – driving into her hard, slick and precise. She remembered the way he'd gasped, whispering her name against the soft line of her lips. Wondering. _Frozen_. One step from the edge until she snuck a hand between them and set him free.

So, you see, it wasn't really a matter of wondering  _how_  it had happened. Everyone involved knew how that worked. It was just that she hadn't given the consequences much thought at the time. The odds, if they'd ever been that, had seemed like impossibilities. There had been nothing to indicate that this time would be any different than the dozens of other times they'd lost themselves in each other since they'd arrived in Alexandria, and one thing had eventually led to the other.

It had been a spur of the moment thing. A rare, precious little instance where she didn't have to coax him into it. Where she didn't have to remind him that he was allowed to have this –  _her_  – that she wanted it. Craved it. And would settle for nothing less than her full share and more.

She supposed that was when the fates really laughed.

Making a mockery out of best intentions and poorly thought out plans.

Because the truth was, they had no one but themselves to blame.

And as one might expect, that had been of remarkably little comfort the day she'd headed out with a Sasha and a day-pack. Determined to find a drug store to tell her what her body already knew as she fought the urge to either vomit or cave in to the questioning looks the woman was giving her as the silence stretched like the miles of blacktop underneath their feet.

* * *

It hadn't been until she was nearly five months along that he'd knocked on the door. Fresh from a recruiting mission with Aaron and Eric, all hesitant and soft like he was unsure of his welcome – hunched shoulders looming in the paned glass as the others quickly made themselves scarce. He'd been filthy and tired, with low-riding bags punched like bruises under his eyes. Clutching the rumpled edges of a dog-eared copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting," like it was some sort of life-line. Remorseful and uncertain, but there all the same as he took her in without filter. Staring, expression conflicted, at the new curve of her. The low riding press of where her –  _their_  – child was growing.

She hadn't slept for two days and her back had been killing her. But somehow, with him there, all that vanished. Paling in comparison when she took in the way Daryl was looking like he was ten seconds from either bolting or squirming clear out of his skin. Watching her carefully from under the protective-dark of his fringe. Hopeful and quiet. Leaving the evolution of the moment up to her as he offered everything he had to the silence.

She wasn't strong enough to let the moment stretch as long as it should have before she broached the space and threw her arms around his neck. Almost sobbing with the pure relief of it as he held onto her just as tightly. Anchoring her close like she was something precious, breakable, but most of all,  _his_ , as they stalled in the doorway. Breathing in each other's air as the tension that had been thrumming through her since the day he'd bolted – snarling and angry - dissipated like mist at sunrise.

He might have even said it. Whispering  _"sorry, sorry. Christ, Carol, I'm so sorry,"_  into her hair over and over again. Burying his face into the soft of her neck like he needed her just to breathe, chest fluttering nervously. Grazing her bump every other exhale as she felt the tension bleed out of him like something twisted and alive. Wringing him out – blood to bone – so that when she finally coaxed him upstairs, he was asleep in her arms before suppertime.

_He never said it out loud._

_He didn't have to._

_After all they'd been through, finding his way back to her had been all the apology she'd needed._


	2. Chapter 2

"It's a boy!" she heard Maggie say distantly.

She'd barely recovered from the last push, but that giddy rush of words was enough to draw on whatever was left of her body's reserves. Allowing her to inch up on the bed, propping herself up on the mound of pillows, sweaty and exhausted to see. Body still coasting – vulnerable and uneasy - through more than a few conflicting sensations. The pain and relief that came out like pleasure after that final push. Knowing it was over. That for better or worse the baby was here.

"He's alright! Looks healthy!" Maggie added, moving back into her view. Wrapping the wriggling bundle in a warm blanket as the little one proved that much in spades. Angry cries rebounding off the walls, hushing into the late autumn as the entire community seemed to take its first tenuous breath in just under nine harrowing months.

_He'd come early._

_Just like his sister._

_Impatient._

The vibrant red of Eric's head blurred between her legs as he snipped the cord and wrapped it quickly. Efficiently bundling up the stained linens from underneath her and replacing them with new ones as Maggie hovered overhead. An exhausted grin lighting up her face as she dipped low, giving her the first sight of her second child, sticky with fluids and blood. She felt something in her melt when she took in that wispy shock of dark brown hair. Motherly pride at an all-time high as his little face screwed up, wrinkled and screeching. Red-faced and tiny as a muted cheer rose up in the lower part of the house.

_Sophia had been born with just enough hair to be called blonde._

_This one though, he took after his father._

_Dark to the root and completely unapologetic about it._

"He's perfect," she hummed, content to simply watch as her son kicked up a ruckus. Heart tenuous and light as she looked up at her second born. Seeing Daryl, Sophia, herself, her father, even her great grandmother as the early morning light cast shadows across his blotchy face. The ugly sort of beautiful that only your own flesh and blood can be as she sent up a silent prayer. The first in a long time. Just in case.

_They'd made it._

_Both of them._

_It almost didn't seem real._

"You can come in now, Daryl," Eric called, taking the baby over to the washing station they'd already set up. Stretching his pre-med studies to their limit as he did a couple of basic tests. Humming serenely as the baby wriggled and punched. Kicking at nothing, vigorous, fat and healthy.

_She was so relieved she could have slept for a month._

Daryl was through the door like a shot. Hair wild and expression just a few inches shy of either nausea or full out bloodshed. Making her wonder just how successful Aaron's attempts at distracting him with rabbit hunting and some unplanned crossbow lessons had been when her water had broken unexpectedly that morning.

 _Poor thing_.

She would have smiled if she'd had the energy for it. Catching sight of Rick, Michonne and Carl in the background, milling in the hall – chuckling as the baby warbled – helping spread the word as the others started getting the celebrations going in full swing.

Her lip quirked.  _Any excuse for a party._

She looked up, only just realizing that Daryl had stopped dead in the doorway. One hand fisting the threshold like it was the only thing holding him up. Looking from her, to the baby then back again, as if unsure of who to go to first. And honestly, she was tired enough to let him struggle with it. Curious to see where they stood now that their new reality was currently bellowing out his displeasure to the world as Eric and Maggie quickly bathed their son clean.

She watched him watch her. Dark fringe doing little to hide the conflicting expressions that filtered across his face. Fear. Uncertainty. Disbelief. But more importantly, a wounded sort of want that burned like living coals right from the very heart of him every time a pink little limb flailed into view.

She smiled softly, letting the private moment keep her fed as Eric cooed happily, patting the baby dry as his irritated yells gradually whimpered themselves to a close. Grumbling and spitting up as he was quickly wrapped in another warm blanket and little blue hat before being passed off to Maggie again.

In the end, it was Maggie who solved the question of what happened next.

"Here," she murmured, offering Daryl the bundle. Looking up at him through long lashes, eyes shining as the baby blinked up at his father sleepily. "Carol wanted you to be the first. Here, hold your son."

She didn't realized she'd been holding her breath until Daryl finally reached forward, cradling their child in the crook of his arm – gentle and quiet – like he was holding spun glass as one tiny little hand reached up and fisted itself in the hollow of his leather vest.

"My son," he repeated, so quiet it could have been a whisper. Escaping from his throat with a scratchy sort of rawness that pulled pleasantly at her insides. Looking down at that crinkled little face in wonderment.

" _My son_ ," he murmured again, more a low croon than anything. Leaving his lips in the same way the wide of his palms were curled carefully around that small little head. Holding their son in his arms with more care then she'd ever seen someone use on so small a thing. Serious, but almost trembling with joy.

They all watched when Daryl tentatively crooked a finger, letting it ghost across the curve of a perfectly chubby little cheek. Surprising – and delighting - everyone in the room when the baby hiccuped, blinking up at his father with an otherworldly calm as Daryl stared back - enraptured.

She blinked through a sheen of happy tears as she watched them. There was something about the way he'd said it that stuck with her. Sounding out like awe and gratitude but colored by that honest sort of disbelief that Daryl always seemed to have in spades. Innocent and old every time the world managed to surprise him for the better.

My son…

_My son…_

* * *

It wasn't until Maggie and Eric quietly let themselves out, giving them a moment alone to soak it all in that she looked up at them. Thrumming with an exhausted, happy sort of pride as father and son looked down at her in return.

"He's perfect," she murmured, hushing him as he whimpered. Displeased at the abrupt changing of hands as Daryl settled him into her arms. Getting used to the change of scenery rather quickly when he sensed there was a meal involved. Fussing hopefully – or more to the point,  _hungrily_  - as her nipples tightened at the sound. Understanding without any further prompting as she arranged the baby at her side and put him to breast.

"Course he is," Daryl grunted as he watched them, heart-breakingly curious and just a little bit smug as his son guzzled greedily. "Came from you, didn't he?"

She smiled, coming from anyone else she would have passed it off. But with Daryl she knew better. He didn't say much of anything unless he meant it. Unless he had something he figured was  _worth_  saying.

She just arched a brow at him, hiding a smirk as their son drank his fill.  _Charmer._

"He still needs a name," she remarked, when Daryl caught the back of a chair with the curl of his thumb and forefinger and dragged it over to the bed. "Any ideas?"

She didn't press him when he took his time answering. Clearly wrestling with something she couldn't see as she contented herself to waiting him out. Smoothing her fingers through that dark shock of hair that graced her son's crown, quietly marveling, until Daryl shifted and cleared his throat.

"There was this old guy across the street when I was growin' up. 'Nam vet. Bit of a nut. You know how it was. He was decent, though. One of the good ones," Daryl started, speaking slow like he was remembering as he went. Savoring something rare from his childhood that didn't end in tears.

"He used to feed me up some, showed me how to take care of myself when mom was loving the bottle a little too hard," he added, smirking a bit when their son almost fell asleep in mid-swallow, a trickle of pearly-white rolling down his little chin as he snuffled uncertainly.

"His last name was Emerson," Daryl offered, looking up at her almost shyly. As if half-convinced she'd reject it right off the bat. "Never did think to ask about his first name. Hell, I don't think I've even thought about the old bat in years."

"Emerson," she tested, looking down at the tiny little thing tucked safely in her arms. Liking it immediately as the syllables did that thing that sometimes happens. Sending muted little shivers down your spine like the universe was trying to impress upon you the rightness of it all. "Emerson Dixon. I love it. It fits."

"Reckon something of his mama should be in there somewhere, though," Daryl grunted, eying his son as the baby suckled hungry. A tiny little hand spidering out across the swell of her breast, eyes closed in bliss.

"We'll figure that out later," she remarked with a smile, feeling it as it stretched across her face. Leaning into his side as he returned the pressure, still and peaceable as the fates settled their coffers, re-checked the odds, and reluctantly named them the victor.

"We have all the time in the world now."

* * *

She wrapped a blanket over her bare shoulders before she folded back the covers and slithered out of bed. Letting bed-warmed toes dance across the hardwood as she tip-toed across the hall. Mindful that the rest of the house was probably still sleeping as she avoided the floorboards that creaked with the ease of long practise.

It had been warm. Not unseasonably so, but warm nonetheless. Murky and thick, humid in a way that reminded her of Georgia in high summer. With heat that stuck with you long after the sun set, sticky and slick with sweat, trapped by the clouds until it was enough to turn the air muddy. And with no energy left to spare for air-conditioning, to say the last few weeks had been uncomfortable was an understatement. But just like all things, the oppressive heat seemed to have broken up overnight. Filling the air with the promise of rain and living things.

She found him right where she expected. Hunched over in the rocking chair by the window in the baby's room. Crossbow carefully propped up against the wall behind him, point down, but well within reach – just in case.

She paused in the doorway, one hip cocked as the rocking chair hushed back and forth in a gentle rhythm. Their son was asleep in his arms and he was nearly halfway there. Lid's at half-mast as dawn broke through the dusty window pane.

She couldn't deny the picture they made - father and son sharing a rare moment.

Framed by the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the blinds.

But like all good things, it wasn't built to last.

"…Carol?"

"It's alright," she assured, crossing the room unhurriedly. As if to show him – with word as well as deed – that everything was exactly that.  _Right._  It happened to all of them every now and again. You wake up, not sure where you are. Forgetting, even if it's only for a second, that you're safe.  _Home._

"You're going to spoil him you know," she chided, gentle and without heat as he tipped his head back, dopy and slow. Alluring enough that she stole a kiss on reflex. Leaning down to extricate their son from his clutches and put him back in his crib. Once again thanking all the appropriate deities that Emerson was host to the rare quality that almost every parent would have given up their eye-teeth to possess. The ability to sleep through just about anything. Including, lately, almost the  _entire_ night.

"Come to bed," she hummed, cold hands kneading into his shoulders with a barely-there rhythm, enough to pull a yawn and a grudging nod out of him as he wobbled to his feet – tired. "He won't be up for at least another hour or so."

In the end, he let himself be led, grumping but docile as he snuggled in beside her.

Breathing in the air of a new era.

_A new day._

A new world that their son would inherit.

Funny how that thought didn't scare her like it used to.

* * *

When it all comes down to it, starting over is easy.

It's the part that comes next that's the hardest - that demands the most.

The hard part is living with the burden of making the world into something better.

Into something that deserves to be fought over.

 _Fought for_.

The hard part is making something out of the ashes. Something wholesome and good that can be nurtured out of the razor-sharp of a million broken dreams. Something that can still grow – caught between the new and the old – as the survivors dust themselves clean and try to figure out where they'll stand after the flames have finally put themselves out.

But the catch is, you don't do it for yourself.

You do it for those that come after you.

For faces and names you will never know or meet. But will carry your blood all the same.

You do it for a future.

_For their future._

Because either way you look at it, despite all odds, the next generation was already here. Arriving quickly, staggered in the form of natural accidents and long debated decisions that had resulted in Tobin and his wife deciding that a late edition to their own family was also in order.

And they were going to need more than just strong walls to rise tall.

It was time to do more than just survive.

_It was time to thrive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> * Emerson: German descent. Meaning: brave, powerful. Associated with people who are competent, practical, and often obtain great power and wealth.


End file.
